


Catching Up

by edenbound



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Character, Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Relationship, Asexuality, Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Multi, Newton Pulsifer needs to think before he opens his mouth, non-binary Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-07 19:56:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19857163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenbound/pseuds/edenbound
Summary: Newt is not entirely sure why Crowley and Aziraphale keep visiting them, but it's somewhat reassuring at the same time as it is utterly terrifying.





	Catching Up

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic you will find an enby/genderfluid character who is entiiiirely content about that, and two asexual characters, also totally content with that. Newt is well-meaning but hopeless.
> 
> (Like me, Crowley does not much care about the label and genderqueer/genderfluid/non-binary all work for him. I've tagged it as both enby and genderfluid, as I think it works for both, but I haven't been tagging genderqueer because 'queer' can be hurtful to some people and I am trying to just provide soft happy fic, of the sort that I have needed myself in the past.)

"You're wearing high heels," Newt says, as soon as he opens the door, as if Crowley isn't aware. As a conversational gambit, it leaves something to be desired, and he's perhaps a little relieved that Crowley ignores it and welcomes himself inside, heels clicking past him decisively. To be truthful, Newt's not entirely sure why Crowley and Aziraphale continue to visit them, although it's somewhat reassuring to find that they still exist, and everything that happened wasn't actually a dream or vivid hallucination.

(If he'd asked Anathema, she'd have shared her theory that it's exactly the same for them, celestial and infernal beings as they are. There's something rather human about them at times, human enough that she suspects the two of them need some kind of reinforcement that yes, it happened, so everything else that happened afterward also happened, and everything is actually fine. She's not sure whether they, like herself and Newt, have terrible nightmares of things ending in a different way, because she's not sure whether or not they actually sleep and whether, if they do, they dream. Nonetheless, she's pretty sure that their minds work in fundamentally similar ways, and that Crowley and Aziraphale are visiting for a kind of _reassurance_. So far, however, she hasn't discussed this theory with Newt. He hasn't asked.)

"He's wearing high heels," he tells her, instead, while trying to find the coffee.

"She," Anathema corrects him, absently, "I think."

"She?"

"The aura," she says vaguely, which doesn't much help, but then she blinks away whatever else she's thinking and gives him a frustrated look. "Crowley changes. You can tell from her aura which she prefers at any given time."

"I can't _see_ his aura! Her aura. Any auras!"

"You could just ask," Anathema suggests, handing him the coffee he was looking for.

* * *

"That's a skirt," Newt says protestingly, though if pressed he wouldn't know what he's protesting _about_. It's just that things are supposed to work in a certain way, and Crowley went into a certain compartment in Newt's brain, and it's rather uncomfortable for that kind of brain -- however well-meaning the owner of it might be -- when people start trying to squirm back out of their compartments. The problem is that Crowley is squirmy, somewhat by definition, being (in the end, or rather, at the beginning) a snake. "I mean. Sorry. You look -- "

"Save it," Crowley says, and pushes along inside. Aziraphale beams at Newt as he comes from the car.

"I meant to say, she, uh, she looks lovely," Newt says, making an effort. Aziraphale frowns a little and then pats his arm.

"It's 'he' today, you know. He's been trying something different, now he doesn't have to worry about... well. Downstairs, you know."

Newt didn't, of course. "Oh."

* * *

His next revelation comes when he spots Crowley's hand resting, ever so casually, on Aziraphale's knee. Naturally the observation doesn't stay politely in Newt's brain, because he apparently has no sense of self-preservation. Instead, he blurts it right out. "You two are together! Boyfriends!" He pauses a second and then offers another word, since the same type of impolite observation rears up to remind him that Crowley is not in fact always male. "Lovers!"

Anathema gives him a pitying look. Crowley rolls his eyes. Aziraphale beams. "In the emotional sense, certainly," the angel says, giving Crowley a melting look of such adoration that Newt finds himself wondering if it might be blasphemous for an angel to love a demon so much. If not blasphemous, there's probably some other kind of word for it that equates to 'forbidden', or 'really bad idea'. "Though we don't actually..."

"We don't fuck," Crowley says, into Aziraphale's delicate pause. "Neither of us are interested. So not lovers in that sense."

Newt really wishes he'd known that the world after Armageddon would involve so many vaguely terrifying and embarrassing conversations. He might, he thinks, have done things differently.

(He wouldn't have.)

* * *

It's not that Newt doesn't like Crowley and Aziraphale, or that he isn't happy for them. So when he notices the incongruously traditional diamond ring on Crowley's ring finger, his eyes dart to Aziraphale's left hand, and then his brain adds one and one and triumphantly makes two. "You're getting married!" he says, delightedly, in the middle of some kind of conversation about poetry (in which Aziraphale and Anathema are eagerly participating, and which Newt is barely following, while Crowley simply sits there with their shoulder leaning solidly into Aziraphale's, their eyes on Aziraphale's face).

(Newt is, you'll have noticed, getting the hang of Crowley and gender. He's instituted the simple policy of asking them, as they come through the door. The first time, Crowley was surprised, and the second time their face did something decidedly odd before they mumbled a pronoun and a thank you and scooted past Newt at more than their usual sauntering speed. Now, they usually let Newt know at the door, and it really does make everything easier for someone who can't see auras.)

"Well," says Crowley.

"Yes," says Aziraphale.

"You're invited, actually," says Crowley, diffidently. "If you feel like it. Small ceremony. Non-religious."

"Of course," Newt replies, without even needing to think about it, and Anathema beams at him and slips her hand into his.

"We'd love to," she says. "Congratulations!"

"It's really about time, I think," Aziraphale says, and Crowley snorts softly.

"You're the one who held things up, angel. But I knew you'd catch up. Eventually."

Newt looks at them, and he is happy for them, but something else is intruding. A thought that has politely remained at the back of his mind for quite a while, crowded out by all kinds of other thoughts, and has seen its chance to rush forward and ambush him now. It was something that laywer had said. 'Mrs Pulsifer.' Newt swallows hard and looks at Anathema, looks down at her hand in his.

Oh. Well then. Perhaps, he thinks, it's time for him to _catch up_ , as well.


End file.
